


A Deft Hand at Restoration

by LAB_reports



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: Anal Sex, Bottom Draco Malfoy, Daddy Kink, Fluff, Light Angst, M/M, Non-Linear Narrative, Probably ooc, Redeemed Draco Malfoy, Top Harry
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-06-17
Updated: 2020-10-09
Packaged: 2021-03-04 04:34:47
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 10
Words: 19,983
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/24777721
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/LAB_reports/pseuds/LAB_reports
Summary: Gary Trotter was perfectly happy, thank you very much. He had his shop, he had his flat, and he had his peace and quiet.Well. He had those things. Until his former life comes sauntering into his shop on an ordinary Tuesday.This is a story of neither here nor there, but all those places in between.
Relationships: Draco Malfoy/Harry Potter, Prior Harry Potter/Kingsley Shacklebolt
Comments: 7
Kudos: 80





	1. A Quiet Shop in London

**Author's Note:**

> This is my first attempt at fanfic. Please be relatively kind (but constructive!). I don't have this completely written quite yet, but I do have about 16k words written out. I could easily end the story there, I think. But I'd also like to gauge interest because I could commit myself to finishing what I anticipate could be quite a long story.

June 17, 2003

It had been four years. Four very short years. Time was funny like that. Like beauty, it was very much in the eye of the beholder. He was sure that for some, the preceding four years had moved at a glacial pace— the minutes dragging by never quite turning into hours. 

But that was not the case for Gary Trotter. No, for Gary the minutes had very quickly turned into years, passing by in a blur. It had not been an unpleasant blur, however. The years had flown by marked by a warm comforting feeling of repetition and simplicity. Gary had decided to embrace the simple life and it had embraced him right back, and for the life of him he couldn’t find himself regretting a single super sonic second of it.

On that fateful day just four years ago, Gary Trotter emptied out his bank account and left behind his life of near constant tension and turmoil for the quiet life of a shopkeeper. Trotter’s Antiques was a quaint little store on a small side street in one of the more residential areas of London. Having grown up in a world in which everyone knew everything about his life, Gary very much appreciated the relative anonymity that a city like London provided. 

The shop had previously been owned by an elderly couple. It had been known as Violet’s Vintages at that time, but when Violet had passed, her husband John found he couldn’t keep it going. It was too much to take on without her—he had told Gary that he saw Violet in every piece in the store and that the pain was too raw to handle. John had said he needed to get away. That was a feeling that Gary understood implicitly. 

Gary had purchased the shop and the flat above it from John for just a bit over asking. He instructed John to take the extra money and do something special in Violet’s memory. John still stopped in from time to time to have tea with Gary, and Gary got to see first hand that getting away agreed just as well with John as it had Gary. 

Gary didn’t rename the store for almost a year. He had wanted Violet’s name to live on. After all, if John’s tea time tales about his former love were any indication, Violet had been quite the woman. Truth be told, Gary initially had no interest in antiques. He was just looking for something, anything, to distract himself from the warring in his head. But as that first year flew by, he found himself falling in love with the antique life. The store began to show more signs of Gary’s tastes, and his deft hand at restoration definitely had a different “feel” to it than Violet’s. It was when John had said he didn’t even recognize the store anymore that Gary knew it was time to change the name. And thus Trotter’s Antiques was born. 

The store itself was small but bright. Gary had white washed the brick walls so that they stood stark against the dark wood floors. Gary’s aesthetic was bright and cheerful. After 18 years of dark and dismal, he figured he deserved a life full of color. And so it was that any time you walked into Trotters, it was as if the sun were shining directly into the store. He kept the store pleasantly warm with soft cheery music floating through the air. Most of the furniture was comprised of light woods and bright fabrics. The China and tea sets were almost exclusively pastel florals. Gary chose antiques for his store that belonged in country cottages—stark contrasts to the city outside the doors. Gary very much dreamed of settling down in a country cottage one day, complete with a garden that he could spend his days tending. He had a bad habit of treating the store as a repository for pieces that he dreamed would one day adorn such a cottage. Which is how the store ended up with sixteen different wind chimes. That weren’t for sale. 

It was two o’clock on a Tuesday, when the wind chime above the door signaled to Gary the arrival of a customer. The timing was odd—the store rarely had customers during the work week, particularly during work hours. Truly, Gary only kept the store open for lack of anything else to do. He walked out from the back room where he had been sanding down an end table to greet the customer, running a hand through his thick black hair. There was dust all over his light blue jeans that had seen better days—wear at the knees had produced the beginnings of holes, not to mention the splotches from paint and wood stain. His black t-shirt was similarly splotched but thankfully exhibited no holes. His black Converse trainers were actually brand new—if only because his last pair had finally separated from the soles. 

The man who had entered the store had his back to Gary. He was dressed in incredibly well tailored black trousers and a powder blue sweater. The man's white blond hair was cropped fairly short, yet styled heavily in such a way that implied exactitude. Gary’s step faltered as he was hit with the distinct feeling of familiarity. In fact, he was certain that when the man turned around he would be met with a pair of silver eyes set in a face full of pointy features. 

Before Gary could gather his wits, the man broke the silence without turning. “So, Potter, tell me. How long were you planning on hiding away in the Muggle world, exactly?”


	2. Why?

Gary’s breath hitched. He took a small breath to steady his nerves before responding. 

“I’m sorry, I’m not sure what you mean. Were you looking for something...” 

The other man turned around swiftly, with his normal grace, meeting Gary with a steely glare. “Don’t play with me, Potter. Anyone who ever cared to know you could see right through that glamour. It’s nice to see that despite everything else, you’re still rubbish at charms.”

“Oh sod off, Malfoy. I’ve just gotten lazy. The charm used to be much stronger. Although, you’d actually be surprised how many people 'who cared to know me' were fooled by the charm,” Gary, well, Harry actually, scoffed. 

Draco smirked. It hadn't taken much to get Potter to admit the front. Though, it really didn’t need admitting—it was quite obviously Harry Potter standing before him. Anyone who wanted to know that surely would. Which begged the question—

“Oh I’m sure you’ve been able to keep your identity hidden from most of the press. Though I have to imagine that dear old Rita has studied your face enough to see through that charm from a quidditch pitch away. And yet, the Prophet has left “Gary Trotter of Muggle London” almost entirely alone.” Draco paused for dramatic effect, raising one eyebrow, “Do I detect Ministry interference?” There was a slight, but clearly evident, edge of snark to the question. 

Harry’s mouth quirked up at one end into a smug smirk. “You of all people should know that it’s not what you know, but who you know Malfoy.” 

Draco snorted. “So that explains the press. What about Granger and your Weasel? Surely they saw through the con?”

A genuine smile came to the other man's face. “Of course. Hermione had a tracking charm placed on me after the war when I left for my travels. I didn’t remove it until I settled in here. As much as I wanted to disappear from everything, I never wanted to leave them. They were, and still are, my best friends.” 

Draco’s expression was plagued by a storm of emotions. Harry waited patiently to see which emotion would win out and what question, in what Harry assumed was going to be a litany, would come next. 

Draco sighed. He turned away from Harry and slowly walked along the store front, trailing his elegant, long fingers along the furniture as he went. “Do you keep up with the wizarding news? Or have you completely sequestered yourself?” 

Harry raised a single eyebrow, not expecting this question at all. “I still receive the Daily Prophet. I don’t read it as closely as I once did, but I certainly skim it with my morning tea. Why?”

Draco turned back to Harry. He was tense, Harry could tell. It looked to Harry that Draco was weighing his options as whether or not to reveal something to Harry. He sat down on the edge of a set of drawers, his hands clasped tightly in his lap. “Well,” he said evenly, “then I’m sure you’re aware that your Weaselette has moved on.” Draco ducked his head to stare at his hands. So it was, that he heard Harry’s reaction rather than saw it. 

Harry huffed a laugh before he could help himself. “THATS what you had yourself worked up over? I mean really, Malfoy. You were nervous that I didn’t know my ex-girlfriend, whose brother is my best mate by the way, was practically engaged and the darling of the society pages? Please. I am not only well aware, but absolutely thrilled for her and Oliver. They make quite the couple.” 

Draco’s face was overcome with an uncharacteristic look of shock that made Harry laugh. “Well it’s not everyday one can manage to crack that Malfoy mask. Should I be honored to have that effect on you, or have you become soft in your old age?” 

Draco sat a bit straighter and glared at Harry. “I am only 22 years of age, Potter. That is hardly considered old age. And I’ll have you know that over the last four years I have endeavored to become a bit “soft”, as you so eloquently put it.” 

It was Harry’s turn to be shocked. “Why?” Was the only thing Harry was able to manage in response. 

“Well, Potter,” Draco started, managing to inject some of the old Malfoy venom into Harry’s surname, “as you may recall, the last time we saw each other was four years ago. Today. You had shown up to my hearing to testify in my favor. Arguing I should be let out on parole after serving just one year in Azkaban. You told the Wizengamot that while I was a complete and utter prat, you wouldn’t be there if it wasn’t for my help towards the end of the war.”

“Yes, I was there Malfoy. How about we avoid taking a stroll down memory lane and just tell me why you’ve decided to go soft,” Harry interrupted. 

“Patience is a virtue, Potter. One you’ve seemingly always lacked in. Now as I was saying, you testified in front of the Wizengamot that I deserved the chance to prove myself capable of being a productive member of Wizarding society. You quite effectively convinced them to suspend the remaining four years of my sentence in favor of parole. I don’t squander second chances, Potter. People like me don’t often get such a benefit. So I decided to become the man you convinced the Wizengamot I could be. Which happens to be a much “softer” person apparently.” Draco sneered the word “softer,” bringing memories of school age fights to the forefront of Harry’s mind. 

Harry was quiet for longer than he had intended. He had a question he wanted an answer to, but couldn’t manage to spit it out. Draco beat him to it. 

“So, after four years of parole. Four years of attempting to be a better wizard. Four years of making amends. I was declared a free man at 10 o’clock this morning. And since I could finally travel freely, I apparated here to find out for myself just who Gary Trotter really was.”

Harry frowned, his brows furrowed thoughtfully. “Malfoy. It’s after 2 o’clock. You must have been finished at the ministry by 11am at the latest. Where have you been for the last three hours?” 

A slight blush worked its way across Draco’s cheeks. “Erm, well. Yes. I was actually sitting in the cafe down the block working up the nerve to come in here. And pacing back in forth in front of the shop, hoping to catch a glimpse. I was certain it would be you, but if I could just get visual confirmation first, well.... well, I don’t actually know what.” 

Harry was stunned into silence once again. This was not the Malfoy he knew. The nervousness and vulnerability on display was wholly inconsistent with the man that Harry had known since he was eleven. He finally mustered the presence of mind to ask a question. Not THE question of course, but a question. “Why are you here?”

Draco ducked his head again, staring down at his wringing hands. His voice was barely a whisper when he finally spoke. “Why’d you disappear, Harry?” And there it was. The question. The topic that hung heavy between them. It hadn’t taken long, apparently Draco Malfoy was a man on a mission. 

Harry ran both his hands through his hair, letting out a breath he hadn’t realized he was holding. “I, I don’t know, Draco. I-I- do you want tea? I feel like this conversation deserves tea.” His left hand was now rubbing the back of his neck. The man's demeanor could be described as sheepish at best.

Draco smiled tightly and nodded his agreement. Harry walked over to the shop door to lock it and flipped the sign to “closed.” 

“Won’t you miss out on customers?” Draco asked rather innocently causing Harry to chuckle once again. 

“You’re the first person to walk in today, Draco. I think I’ll be ok,” he said as he began to move through the store motioning for Draco to follow him. 

—- 

Harry had led Draco through the back room and up the stairs that lead to Harry’s flat above the shop. The flat was decorated much like the shop was—light and airy, but warm. Oh so, warm and comfortable. Draco couldn’t help but smile at the immediate feeling of “home” the place radiated. He sat down in a light yellow overstuffed arm chair as Harry went about preparing tea. Opposite the arm chair was a dark blue sofa large enough for three or four people. A white knit blanket was laid across the top of the sofa, complimenting the floral pastel throw pillows. Behind his chair, the wall was covered with a built-in bookshelf. Shockingly, as Draco never considered Harry to be a particularly voracious reader, the shelves were filled to bursting with well worn books. The sofa was flanked on either side by a matching set of end tables that Harry had obviously restored himself, as they both were white washed in his signature style. A lamp was set on each table, featuring beautiful stained glass lamp shades. Draco couldn’t help but admire their beauty. 

“They’re called Tiffany lamps. They’re quite rare and sought after in the Muggle community.” Harry answered Draco’s unasked question as he walked into the sitting room with two cups of tea, cream, and sugar. 

Draco added a bit of cream and two spoonfuls of sugar to his tea waiting for Harry to speak. Harry always drank his tea black, this everyone knew thanks to one of the many “Potter exposés” Skeeter printed over the years. 

Harry grasped the tea cup tightly in his hands as he stared into it. The cups were dark green with gold gilt design on the outside, the inside of the cups were white with a purple floral design. Draco had to smother the threatening smirk over Harry’s apparent penchant for florals. 

Harry sighed heavily causing Draco to snap his attention from his tea cup to the dark haired man. 

“Well. I guess the best place to start is the beginning.” 

Draco snorted. This was going to be a long day.


	3. Trials and Tribulations

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I know cannon portrays Kingsley as much older. I liked him better in this story as older, but not too much older than Harry--I think I have it at about 11 years. 
> 
> Also, I plan on posting 2-3 chapters per week. I think that's a good pace. Maybe I'll post more. We shall see.

June 17, 1999

Harry was pacing back and forth. He kept running his hands through his hair in between bouts of wringing them in anxious frustration. He was so completely lost in his thoughts he didn’t hear Ron until it was apparently too late. 

“HARRY! MATE! Sit the bloody hell down and at least try and explain to me why you’re acting like a lunatic, will ya?” Harry’s best friend yelled at him from beneath the tree Harry was pacing in front of. 

Harry had arrived at the Burrow just 20 minutes prior, having flooed directly from Kingsley’s office after the trial. 

“What if I made a mistake, Ron? What if I just let Malfoy loose on the Wizarding world and the unbearable little ferret hasn’t changed one bit?” Harry’s words rushed out of him in one breath. For his part, the red head was understanding, albeit truly exhausted. 

Wiping his hand down his face, Ron explained to Harry for what had to have been the 100th time in the last two days: “Harry. It’s a conditional release. Parole. He steps one toe out of line and the Aurors will have him back in Azkaban serving his sentence before he can even say ferret. Not to mention that the prat and his mum saved your life. Twice. He can’t have been that dedicated to the cause if he was willing to stick his neck out to protect you, yeah?” Harry grimaced. In the year Harry had gone traveling, it seemed Hermione had somehow managed to mellow Ron out. Harry had yet to grow used to it. 

Harry walked over to the tree and slid down to sit next to Ron. “Yeah, I guess. I mean, I don’t know, I—-you’re right. Ok. Fine.” Harry looked down and away from his friend as he started pulling blades of grass from the ground as a means to quell his frustration. 

———-

After the Battle of Hogwarts, there had been weeks of funerals, trials, and interviews. It was overwhelming for Harry. Never one to enjoy the spotlight, Harry found the increased attention after the war to be doubly unwanted. He had lost too much to feel anything other than empty. And so it was he decided to leave the isles in search of something, anything, really. Himself, as Hermione had astutely pointed out at the time. 

He spent an entire year backpacking around the globe to both Muggle and Wizarding destinations. He spent three months in the States--wild that place. A few months on safari all throughout Africa. And a few more months in a number of different Asian locales. Traveling alone was cathartic for Harry. He had all the time in the world to think, and to talk to those he lost. 

He spent a lot of time talking to Dumbledore. His feelings towards his former headmaster still a confusing mix of anger, respect, and love. He also spent a disturbingly large amount of time talking to Snape. Those feelings were more confusing. The man Harry had hated since he was eleven had sacrificed so much to save the Wizarding world. All because he loved Harry’s mother. It was...unnerving. 

He wasn’t really talking to Dumbledore or Snape really, Harry knew that. But speaking his thoughts and feelings out into the ether proved helpful in ordering his mind. He felt he knew both men well enough to anticipate their responses. A twinkling of the eyes and a sneer matched with a glare, respectively. It was during one of these talks to Snape that Harry had started thinking of Draco Malfoy. 

The man was a prat. There was no doubt about that in Harry’s mind. But, was he an evil prat? Or just your run of the mill spoiled rotten prat? Were his hands not forced in the war just as much as Harry’s? He hadn't wanted to kill Dumbledore. Of that much Harry was certain. The half hearted attempts coupled with the lowering of his wand on the astronomy tower made it clear to Harry that Draco’s heart wasn’t in it. 

So was Draco just a pawn for Voldemort in the same way Harry had been a pawn for Dumbledore? Okay. Maybe a “pawn for Dumbledore” was harsh, but it certainly felt that way to Harry sometimes. If given a chance, away from the unfortunate and misguided influence of Lucius Malfoy, could Draco become the person Harry had glimpsed inside of Malfoy Manor those many months ago? 

It wasn’t just thoughts of Malfoy that plagued Harry’s mind during his travels. He lay awake late at night thinking about Ginny. He didn’t miss her. And that struck Harry as odd. If he loved Ginny, really loved her, wouldn’t he miss her? Probably. He didn’t though, and hadn’t really during the horcrux hunt either. 

His mind wandered often to the conversations he and Hermione had after Ron had abandoned them. Hermione admitting her love for Ron, and Harry admitting he wasn’t sure he loved Ginny. He loved Ginny, he knew that even then, but he just wasn’t sure he loved her the right way. 

Harry found himself questioning a lot of things during his trek around the globe. Ginny and Cho had been the only people Harry had ever been romantically interested in. Though, when Harry really thought about it, his interest in either witch hadn’t started until she began dating someone else. Was Harry just envious of relationships? No, he certainly hadn't envied Lavender and Ron. Maybe he envied the seeming stability between Cedric and Cho and Dean and Ginny? Or did he really just envy...

It was during this line of thought that the owl from Kingsley finally located Harry. He was lying in a hammock above some rice fields in Bali. He had been in Bali for almost a week at that point, having fallen in love with the lush greenery and hot temperatures. The message from Kingsley pulled at Harry’s gut. It was time to go home. 

\-------

And so it was that Harry found himself at 10 o’clock that morning in front of the Wizengamot arguing for Draco’s relative freedom. He had arrived back in England just two days prior, Kingsley’s message informing Harry of the trial, and had reviewed the case ad nauseam with Hermione and Ron. Ron had already started Auror training and was able to provide some finer points on the law. And Hermione, well, she was Hermione after all. Together the three of them put together how Harry would best present his case. 

It came as a shock to Harry when the Wizengamot agreed to his terms after a mere three minutes of discussion. Though It should have come as no surprise as Harry seemed to have an inordinate amount of sway these days. Another perk of being the “savior.” He inwardly groaned at the thought. When Draco was ushered away for processing, Harry felt a wave of emotion come over him that felt suspiciously like relief. That thought alone made him queasy. Fighting the urge to vomit in a wastebasket, Harry found himself rushing to Kingsley’s office. The Minister still had direct floo access to the Burrow from the days of the Order. Not wanting to deal with the crowds that were ever present in the Atrium, Harry decided to ask a personal favor of his friend Kingsley. 

————-

“Harry, is everything ok? You look...well let’s not sugar coat it. You look like hell. I’m assuming the trial went poorly?” 

The tension in Harry’s shoulders lessened just a bit at Kingsley’s words. Kingsley had a way of making people feel at ease, it was part of the reason he rose through the auror ranks so quickly. It was also part of why at just 30 years old, Kingsley was elected the youngest Minister of Magic. The fact he had actually been the youngest Minister at 29 when he stepped in as the acting Minister following the war, was neither here nor there. Harry had always been fond of Kingsley, but now counted the man amongst his closest friends. A year of owling will do that, apparently. 

Harry dramatically plopped himself down in one of the leather chairs in front of Kingsley’s desk. He wiped his hands down his face, letting out an exaggerated sigh. “It went exactly as we planned. He’s now officially on parole.”

“So naturally, now that it’s real, you’re second guessing yourself?” Kingsley’s ability to get to the heart of an issue was another quality that made him the most well liked Minister in decades. 

“Well. Yeah. What if he...”

“What if he ends up actually being the man you argued he could be? Harry. I may have been young during the first war, but I did live through it. I remember the aftermath especially well. The Ministry made examples out of everyone it possibly could. There were plenty of wizards and witches who could have been shown the light, but instead they were punished harshly. Time in Azkaban does not make people question their actions, Harry. It makes them angry, bitter. It pushes them deeper into the dark. People like Draco are difficult cases. On the one hand he absolutely committed war crimes. I will not deny that. But on the other, he was raised by one of Voldemort’s most trusted lieutenants. He was never given any choices. Yes, he was coddled and spoiled rotten—but only to the extent he agreed with his father. Lucius Malfoy was an unforgiving man, especially with his own son. Draco was expected to follow his father's orders without question. The slightest hint of hesitation was met with abject cruelty—something I believe you and he have in common. Harry, Draco was raised in complete darkness, and yet, when faced with opportunities in which he was able to choose for himself, he reached for the light. At risk of great personal sacrifice. Draco has goodness in him, Harry. I believe this is what he needed. Someone to believe that the goodness exists. That the belief came from you, his arch rival for all intents and purposes, I believe carries a great deal of weight.” 

Harry had listened intently to Kingsley’s speech. As always, he was impressed by the man's eloquence. But more so, Harry was impressed by Kingsley’s faith. Kingsley seemed so sure, absolutely certain even, that what had happened was the right thing. Harry found he couldn’t argue with him, despite the deep rooted desire to do just that. 

“There’s more to it, isn’t there? There’s something else about this that’s troubling you?” 

Harry startled to attention, giving away the answer without saying anything. Of course there was more to this. It was Draco sodding Malfoy they were discussing, after all. When it came to Malfoy, there was always more to it. What that more was, at that moment, Harry wasn’t entirely sure of. And he certainly wasn’t about to parse it out with Kingsley.

Harry smirked thinking back to one of the many monikers the Prophet had labeled him over the years, “I’m a deeply troubled guy, Kingsley. What can I say?” The comment elicited a genuine laugh from Kingsley. Kingsley’s laugh was warm and full-bodied—shaking his shoulders with his head thrown back. The laughter was etched into every line of the man's face, which was split from the accompanying smile. And damn if it wasn’t infectious. 

Harry laughed with the man as he stood. “Thanks for trying to help Kingsley. I really appreciate it, but I think I’m going to have to work through this one on my own.” Harry held out his hand as Kingsley stood and made his way around the desk. 

Foregoing the far too formal handshake, Kingsley pulled Harry into a tight hug. Harry stiffened at first, but relaxed into the other mans warmth rather quickly. 

“Harry, you did the right thing, and I couldn’t be more proud of you.” Kingsley squeezed Harry before stepping out of the hug, leaving his hands on Harry’s shoulders. Kingsley towered over Harry by at least four inches, but he cast his head down, his deep brown eyes burning holes into Harry.

“Can you promise me one thing?”

“I can try, Kingsley. But I can’t make any promises.”

Kingsley sighed. “If you need to talk, please come find me. I mean it. About anything. I think you’ll find I understand a lot more than you know.” And with that Kingsley let Harry go, waving to the floo. “Now go, I’m sure Ron and Hermione are pacing the Burrow waiting for your return.” 

“Thanks Kingsley. I’m sure I’ll see you soon.” Harry took a pinch of powder and with the familiar and unwelcome feeling of floo travel, he was off.


	4. Something Feels...Off

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I wanted to post more than one chapter today, but the next two or three chapters have been giving me a lot of trouble. I just can't seem to make them work the way I want, or that is remotely believable. I'm hoping to figure them out in the next few days.

Harry left Kingsley’s office with a warmth in the pit of his stomach that he had rarely felt before. It set his nerves on edge, and was partly to blame for Harry’s earlier pacing. 

Sat underneath the tree, Harry was still picking at blades of grass when Hermione arrived. Ron perked up at the sight of the bushy haired woman making her way quickly across the lawn. 

While Harry had traveled and Ron joined the auror corps almost immediately, Hermione in her never ending pragmatism had chosen to return to Hogwarts to finish her education. She had finished her final NEWTs exam the week prior and had been rotating between staying with her parents and at the Burrow since. It had been quite the ordeal tracking down Mr. and Mrs. Granger after the war, or at least that was what Ron and Hermione had written in their letters. In the two months between the final battle and returning for her eighth year, Hermione had set off to Australia to restore her parents memories, with Ron in tow. Though it had taken just a few short weeks to locate the Grangers, it took quite a bit more to restore even the faintest memory of Hermione. Indeed, the Grangers enjoyed a lengthy stay in St. Mungo's before their memories were deemed completely in tact--just days before the Christmas hols. To say they were not best pleased with their daughter was an astonishing understatement. But, as time ticked on the relationship was mending and according to Hermione, the Granger family was "stronger than ever." 

“Harry, how did it go? Is Malfoy on parole? How are you feeling?” Hermione rushed out the series of questions in her typical fashion—breathlessly as though she was worried she wouldn’t have enough time to ask all the questions she had on her mind. Truth be told, there probably wasn’t enough time for the amount of questions that Hermione Granger had about the universe. 

“Oh hey, Mione. It’s nice to see you too. I’ll just sit quietly and pretend I’m not here.” Ron quipped, his tone light and playful. Ron had become beyond used to Hermione's one track mind and was no longer offended by her bad habit of ignoring her boyfriend's presence. Ron Weasley had grown up, indeed. 

“Ronald, please. Of course I’m happy to see you but Harry has news. Harry?”

“It went exactly as we planned. The rest of his sentence has been suspended in favor of parole. If Malfoy keeps his head down and obeys the law he’ll be a free man in four years.” Harry glanced up from his grass picking endeavor and gave Hermione a tight smile. 

“So naturally, now that it’s real, you’re second guessing yourself?” Hermione sat cross legged in front of the two boys. 

Harry couldn’t help but laugh. “Kingsley said the exact same thing.” 

“You went to see Kinglsey?” This time it was Ron who asked the question. 

“Well yeah. I wanted to avoid the Atrium and I knew Kingsley’s office still had floo connection to the Burrow and honestly I just feel like Kingsley kind of gets me and it’s just nice to talk to someone other than you guys sometimes. Not that you guys aren’t great, you obviously are, I just, I don’t know it’s different with Kingsley. It’s just..I don’t know. But yeah I stopped in his office before coming here.” 

A look that could only mean working through deep, perhaps puzzling, thoughts crossed Hermione's face. Ron, apparently, either didn’t notice or opted to ignore it. “Oh hear that, Hermione. Harry just stopped by the office of his good friend the Minister of Magic for a quick chat. No big deal.” 

“Yeah he’s the Minister but he’s also our friend Ron.”

“No Harry. Apparently he's your friend. Don’t get me wrong. I think Kingsley’s great, and we’re friendly when we run into each other. But I’m not just popping by his office for tea to talk about our feelings.” 

“Yeah well." Harry shrugged his shoulders. "We've been owling a lot over the last year and I guess we got pretty close because of it.” 

“You’ve been owling the Minister for the last year?!?” Ron didn’t bother to hide his astonishment at Harry’s blasé attitude. 

Hermione sat watching the exchange, the look of deep thought hardening on her face. Something which the two men seemed to be completely oblivious to. Something was tickling the back of her brain, some explanation for Harry’s sudden companionship with the Minister, but she couldn’t put her finger on it. 

“I think it’s great that you’ve found someone other than us you can confide in, Harry. Kingsley is a brilliant man, and I think he’ll be a good influence on you.” Hermione interrupted the back and forth, deciding that although she couldn’t pin point the reason, she knew the seemingly sudden friendship was good for Harry. 

“Thanks 'Mione. As always, he said what needed to be said—not just what I wanted to hear. It helped, but I still can’t shake the feeling that something is just...not right. I don’t know what it is. But it just has me on edge. My instincts are telling me that something just isn't done here, and my instincts are rarely wrong."

"Mate, your instincts are always wrong." The freckled red-head joked, clearly getting over his momentary shock. "Or well, your instincts are always dangerous." 

The two men chuckled their amusement, "Fair enough. This doesn't feel dangerous though, it just feels....unfinished, I think." 

“Do you think talking to Malfoy would help?” 

Both Harry and Ron gaped at the woman. 

“Honestly, Harry. Nows the best time to have it out with him if that’s what you feel you need to do. He’s surrounded by aurors. He’d literally be a captive audience. And maybe talking to Malfoy will help you figure out your issue with the whole situation; maybe it'll help you finish whatever unfinished business you have with him.” Hermione waved her hand as she talked, clearly conveying that she thought Harry was being silly, but suggesting what she thought was the obvious solution nonetheless. 

Harry bit his lip for a second as he thought. A second being all it took, as that uneasy feeling that had been plaguing him for the last two days propelled him to his feet. 

“What’s the worst that could happen, right?” Harry made up his mind and was walking towards the edge of the wards so he could apparate to Malfoy Manor before anyone (himself) could stop him. 

“Have fun, Harry.” If Harry had turned around, he would have seen that Hermione had a look, the type of look that told said she had figured out this particular issue long before Harry had. Considering Harry still had no idea what was going on, that really wasn’t surprising.


	5. Off to Malfoy Manor

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Here is one of the chapters that has been giving me trouble. I managed to get this one to finally play out. Hopefully another one this weekend.

With a loud crack, Harry landed on his feet just outside the gates of Malfoy Manor. Well, mostly on his feet. He may have stumbled just a bit. Maybe. 

The auror stationed at the gates jumped back a bit at Harry's sudden appearance.

“Harry Potter? The Harry Potter?? What are you doing here?” The young auror questioned. 

The auror couldn’t be much older than Harry, but Harry definitely didn’t recognize him from Hogwarts. Maybe just a youthful face. “Er, yeah. I want to talk to Malfoy. Draco, that is. Can I?” Harry realized probably a bit too late that he may not be permitted to do exactly what he was there to do. Malfoy was on parole, but Mrs. Malfoy was on house arrest for another year. He wasn’t quite sure what her terms were, if visitors to the Manor were even permitted. Maybe he should have talked to Kingsley about it first. 

He needn’t have worried. “Sure. Don’t see what ya want to talk to that death eater scum for though.” The man’s distaste for Malfoy was more than evident. 

“He was hardly a death eater.” Harry amended automatically. 

“Got the mark, don’t he?” 

“I’m sorry, what’s your name?” 

“Name’s Terrence Jones. My mates call me Terry though.” 

“Well, Auror Jones,” Harry addressed the man pointedly, making it clear they were not, in fact, friends, “the mark doesn’t always tell the whole story, now does it? Severus Snape had the mark but that greasy git saved my life more times than I probably even know. So unless you’re saying you know more about Malfoy’s crimes than the Wizengamot, or me, how about you just take me on in to speak to him, yeah?” Harry was being a prick. He knew that. But he couldn’t stop. At least he hadn’t sneered at the young auror. Yet. 

“Alright, alright. Keep your pants on. Just don’t see why ya’d want to talk to him is all. But I s’pose I can take you to the door. ‘Sup to him if he wants to see ya though.” The young wizard waved his wand in front of the gates and started leading Harry down the long, meandering path to the door of the Manor. 

Harry was surprised that the grounds were as manicured as they were. During his research for Malfoy’s hearing, he had learned that the Ministry had come down hard on Lucius. A life sentence in Azkaban was but one of his worries. Rumor had it that the majority of the Malfoy fortune was wiped out from the heavy fines—a rumor confirmed by the documents Harry had reviewed. Though, Harry supposed, when you had a fortune as massive as the Malfoys, even the remaining minority was more than any family needed. There was probably still a small army of house elves tending to the grounds daily. 

Harry was jerked from his thoughts by Auror Jones’ ramblings. “Ya listenin’ to me, mate?”

“I’m not your mate.” Harry really was being a grade A prick. He just couldn’t find the energy to like this guy. Something about him just wasn’t.....he just didn’t fucking like the guy. 

“Not yet, anyway. I'm sure once we spend some time together, we’ll be best mates, we will. I joined the corps right after the war, ya see. Every one knew it was only a matter of time before you joined up too. A chance to serve with the Savior? Ya bet yer pants a buncha us signed up straight away. Just graduated the academy last week, myself.”

Harry snorted. “Figures.” 

Jones was not put off in the slightest. Indeed, as they approached the front door he doubled down, turning to Harry, “So once yer done talking to that scum, fancy a pint?” 

“No.” Harry turned from the auror, who still didn’t seem to get it, and grasped the heavy serpentine knocker and banged it against the imposing mahogany door several times. 

The giant doors swung open with a grace Harry didn’t think doors could posses. Expecting to be greeted by a house-elf, he was quite taken aback by Narcissa Malfoy’s presence greeting him….warmly? 

“Ah, Mr. Potter, to what do I owe the pleasure?” 

Harry hadn’t seen Narcissa since the Battle. He had high-tailed it out of Britain as soon as the last funeral had ended, just as the trials were getting under way. He had no desire to participate in any of them, save one. Narcissa’s. Harry knew the war would have ended very differently had Narcissa not lied to Voldemort’s face. He had written a sworn statement describing the scene in the forest—a statement that secured just a two-year house arrest sentence for Mrs. Malfoy. 

Harry was surprised to see that the last year of house arrest had quite agreed with Narcissa. She was arguably more striking than usual—her face had a lightness to it that he had never before seen. Gentle lines had begun to form in places that suggested Narcissa Malfoy was finally living her life as she pleased. Her piercing blue eyes and platinum blonde hair were practically gleaming in the afternoon sun. She wore traditional navy blue robes, cut to elegantly flatter her figure. 

“Mrs. Malfoy, I am glad to see that you are looking well,” Harry regained his mental footing and bowed in proper greeting. “I was actually wondering if Draco was home, and if I could speak with him?”

“He is. Why don’t you follow me to the sitting room, and I’ll fetch him?” She stepped, floated really, to the side and allowed Harry entrance to the foyer of the Manor. 

It was enormous. Nearly the size of the Entrance Hall at Hogwarts. The floor was white marble with silver-grey veins. The walls were the same dark mahogany of the doors, adorned by tasteful paintings and tapestries thoughtfully placed. The few side tables were adorned with vases of freshly picked flowers. All white. In the center of the room was a crystal chandelier so large, Harry thought it might be the size of a car. He wondered that it was able to stay affixed to the ceiling considering its clearly sizable weight. Oh, right. Magic. 

Harry shook himself when he noticed Narcissa had begun to move through the hall. He was having a hard time not gawking at the splendor of the Manor. The last time, or well the only time really, he had been to the Malfoy residence he had been far too focused on other things. Like staying alive. 

Narcissa lead Harry down to the end of the large room, to a set of French doors set in the center of the back wall. Stairs, mahogany of course, with white and silver runners, extended out of each of the back corners of the massive room. She pushed the doors open and waved Harry inside. “Please, Mr. Potter, have a seat.”

“Harry. Please, call me Harry,” he corrected automatically. He had never been one for formalities. 

Narcissa graced him with a gentle smile, something he was certain very few had been privileged to witness. “As you wish, Harry. Then please, call me Narcissa.” 

Harry couldn’t help but return the smile. He liked this version of Narcissa. “Of course, Narcissa. Thank you.” 

Harry took a curious glance around the room. The mahogany walls continued into the sitting room, but the dark intensity was broken by torches every few feet which had flared to life when Harry had entered. There was a dark, green carpet that was so thick his shoes sunk into it as he walked. Black leather couches and chairs were situated around the room, _just so_. The focal point was the large marble fireplace, this time white with a breathtaking black vein, which had also roared to life upon Harry’s entrance. Above the fireplace was a large portrait of the Malfoy family—all wearing matching looks of “why yes, we are better than you.” Harry tried to hide his snort of amusement as he plopped down into one of the chairs. A gesture he was sure the chair was unaccustomed to. 

Narcissa was hovering between the doors and where Harry had seated himself. “Mr…Harry, I know you’re here to speak to my son, but I’d be honored to have a word myself.” 

Harry couldn’t help but blink a few times at the normally proud woman’s humble demeanor. “Narcissa, this is your home, if you wish to speak to me, it would be I who is honored.” One of Harry’s best kept secrets was his knowledge of pureblooded customs—something he picked up in a book. A book he found one sleepless night at Grimmauld place in the early days of the hunt. A book that had yet to prove its usefulness.

“Thank you, Harry. I am sure that it is not easy for you be here, that my home does not hold any fond memories for you. As such, I endeavor to keep this as brief as possible so as not to prolong your stay.” Narcissa gracefully settled into the chair opposite Harry’s, crossing her ankles and placing her hands delicately in her lap. 

“I must thank you, Harry. For many things. First and foremost, for your bravery and dedication in ridding this world of the Dark Lord.” Harry had opened his mouth to reply, but Narcissa held one elegant hand up, pausing his words. “While my husband may have been dedicated to the Dark Lord’s cause, I myself never was. You saved many lives that day, Harry. I hope you know this.” 

Harry could do nothing but nod his understanding. He was completely taken aback by the woman’s speech—a speech that evidently was not finished. 

“Second, thank you for your testimony on my behalf. Though I did not have the dark mark, I am certain that if not for your testimony, an example would have been made, and I would have been sent to Azkaban much like my husband.” 

Narcissa paused, and Harry seized the opportunity. “As much as I would like to disagree with you, I believe you are correct. Kingsley didn’t have the power then that he has now, and I couldn’t bear the thought of you in Azkaban. You saved my life that night. Something I have yet to thank you for. You risked everything to defy Voldemort in that moment. A moment that allowed me to win in the end. I doubt that I will ever be able to thank you properly, but thank you.” 

Narcissa smiled warmly at Harry. “In the last year, I have regained contact with my sister Andromeda. She had mentioned that the real Harry Potter was much more remarkable than anyone truly knew. I am pleased to see that she was correct. It also makes what I’m about to do sit that much better with my soul.” 

In that moment, she pulled a long thin wand from the sleeve of her robe. She waved it in a simple figure eight pattern quietly but firmly incanting, “delebitur anima debitum.” A gold glow brightly enveloped them both before fading into their skin. 

Harry froze. He couldn’t find the words. He didn’t feel like he had been hexed. But he also had no idea what she had just cast on him. He couldn’t believe he could be so stupid….

“Harry.” Narcissa’s calm voice broke into Harry’s internal panic, as she reached out and placed her cool hand on his forearm. “Perhaps I should have explained beforehand, though I was warned that you would attempt to talk me out of it. I merely cancelled a life debt that existed between us.” 

“You did what?”

“Cancelled a life debt. Are you familiar with the concept?” 

Harry shook his head. While he thought may have a vague familiarity with the concept, he had no grasp of the details. 

“When a witch or wizard saves the life of another, the saved wizard becomes indebted to the saving wizard. This is a life debt. It is governed by magic herself. The wizard to whom the life debt is owed, can call in the debt at any time, in any way. There are only three ways to fulfill a life debt: satisfying the wish of the debtor wizard, the cancellation rite, or death. You are a good man, Harry Potter, and for far too long you have been at the beck and call of others. I have no desire to see that continue, much less at my hand.”

Harry had questions. Boy, did he have questions. “Why haven’t I ever heard of this before? I’m sorry, I just have saved and been saved a lot and no one’s ever brought up a life debt before.” 

“I am unsurprised that no one has explained this to you previously. It is ancient magic. Very few families outside the Sacred Twenty-Eight have an understanding of life debts. Indeed, even pureblood families like the Weasleys and Longbottoms would never conceive of calling in a life debt. But it is dangerous to leave a life debt to linger. I do believe that is how one Peter Pettigrew met his end.” 

Harry was openly gaping at the woman now. The information swirling through his mind like smoke—whispy, and impossible to grasp. “Pettigrew was murdered by the hand Voldemort gave him. I was there. Here, actually.” 

“I know, Harry. Who do you think collected the body?” She paused, raising a single eyebrow. The look was so reminiscent of Draco, that Harry had to wonder which parent Draco actually took after. “Peter Pettigrew owed you a life debt Harry. In your third year, you stopped Remus Lupin and Sirius Black from murdering him. He often bragged about it. He was foolish and short sighted, never all that bright. That night in our dungeon, he would have turned you in Harry. But magic would not let him. You may not have been aware, but you called in his life debt, preventing him from doing anything against you. Unfortunately for him, he had pledged his loyalty to a madman. The hand the Dark Lord had bestowed upon Pettigrew was fashioned to sense a change in loyalty, whatever the cause, and to kill at that moment.” 

“So because he owed me a life debt, he couldn’t do anything to kill me? Like ever?”

“No, Harry. How one repays a life debt varies widely. In your circumstance, Peter repaid you by keeping your escape secret, allowing you to live. But you can see why it’s so dangerous to let linger. You did not know you were invoking repayment. Permitting a life debt linger can lead to disastrous outcomes if one is not careful.” 

Harry chewed on his lip. A hundred memories were bouncing around his head. “Does saving someone’s life always create a life debt?” 

“A life debt only accrues if death was a certainty. In our situation, the Dark Lord would have sent the killing curse at you immediately should I have suggested you were alive. I saved you from a certain death. You saved the entire wizarding population from likely death—that is not the same.” Narcissa had her crystal blue eyes fixed on Harry. He had the unpleasant feeling of being sized up. Harry had always worn his emotions on his sleeve, and face, and he had a feeling Narcissa Malfoy was moments from figuring him out. 

“What is it that has you so conflicted, Harry?” 

“Can life debts cancel each other out, like someone saved my life, but a few weeks later I saved his life, would that put us back at zero?”

“Perhaps. It depends on the situation. Death is fickle, and it truly takes a certain death to create a life debt.”

“Well. I saved Draco from the Fiendfyre during the battle. He definitely would have died if I left him. I mean, Crabbe did. But before that, while I was here, he refused to identify me. He saved my life.” 

“Ah. But not in the eyes of Magic. My son’s choice that day saved you. But had he identified you, the Dark Lord may not have killed you straight away. He may have tortured you first. Paraded you around as a slave. One can only guess. It was not a certain death he saved you from. Or at least, not an _imminent_ certain death. You owe Draco nothing. He, however, does indeed owe you.” 

“Oh.” Harry was looking at the hands he had clasped in his lap. He wasn’t sure when he had started wringing them, but he assumed it was at the point when his life got a whole hell of a lot more complicated. 

“I have one final thing to thank you for, Harry, and then I will fetch Draco for you.” 

Harry looked up, impossibly green eyes meeting impossibly blue-- single nod to indicate Narcissa to continue. 

“You owed Draco nothing, You never have. And yet, you continue to save him. I can never begin to thank you enough. My Draco is my entire world, I would do anything to protect him. I believe you are all too familiar with the strength of a mother’s love. Thank you for bringing him home to me, Harry.” With that, she reached over to grasp one of Harry’s hand in hers, gently squeezing. 

“I shall fetch Draco now. I shan’t belong.” Without a backward glance, Narcissa pulled the doors shut behind her and glided off in the other direction. Again, with a grace Harry didn’t know existed, leaving Harry alone with his increasingly tangled thoughts.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I don't know latin in the slightest, but used google translate. I used the term "life debt forgotten" and was given "delebitur anima debitum" as a translation. I'm not sure how correct that is, but I liked the sound of it.


	6. Unfinished Business

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This chapter has taken me a really long time. When I first started writing this story months ago, I actually skipped this part because it was evading me and continued writing. I finally got it to work. AND. The next few chapters only need a bit of editing before they're good to go. 
> 
> I go back to work on Monday, so I'm afraid this story might be a bit slow going, but as long as I keep getting feedback, I'll keep it going!

Harry was entirely unsure how much time had passed since Narcissa had left him in the sitting room, but as his eyelids started to droop he knew it had been more than just a few minutes. The gentle warmth of the late spring day combined with the fire in the hearth, was lulling Harry under. So it was that he did not hear the French doors open. But he did hear them slam shut-- jolting Harry out of his comfortable half-sleep and quite nearly out of his skin. He quickly blinked his surprise at the young Malfoy heir smirking at him from his place leaning against said doors. 

“Potter.” 

“Malfoy.”

“Mother said you had something you wanted to say to me?” 

He looked much the same, really, just tired—world weary, Harry supposed. Harry would have been able to see the dark purple hues under the man’s storm grey eyes from a kilometer away. His typically perfectly porcelain skin was almost translucent, a blue undertone from from too much blood showing through. The blues and purples causing the young wizard to look just this side of death. The notorious platinum blond hair had been cut since that morning’s trial—gone were the lank yellowed strands, matted to the pointy features from twelve months in a jail cell. Instead the white strands were cut to fall along the prominent jaw line, clean, and appeared soft enough that Harry had the urge to run his fingers through them. He was dressed casually, far more casual than Harry had seen in years. He wore a pair of black linen trousers that tied with a drawstring at the waist and a dove grey v-neck jumper, tucked in the front. The neckline of the jumper revealed the man’s collar bones, sharp, but not overly so. For a year in Azkaban, the man did not look too haunted or too starved. Harry caught himself feeling thankful for that, which only increased that uneasy feeling. 

“Actually, I thought it was you who would have something to say to me.” There was that dickhead attitude again. This time however, Harry knew exactly why he was acting that way. It was Malfoy after all. Despite all that had transpired between Harry and the Malfoy matriarch over the last hour, he couldn’t seem to help himself. He would rise to the bait every time. And well, if he was lashing out due to his own surprising gratitude for Malfoy’s health, no one needed to know. 

“What could I possibly have to say to you?” 

“I don’t know, maybe, thank you?”

“And what exactly should I be thanking you for?”

“I don’t know pick something. Defeating Voldemort, saving you from the Fiendfyre, saving your mother from Azkaban, saving you from going back to Azkaban….need I continue?” 

Malfoy had the nerve to snort at that. “Ever the sanctimonious prick, huh, Potter?” 

Harry covered his face with hands and leaned forward, slowly wiping them down. The gesture had always been a way for him to take a few seconds to compose himself, particularly when he was on the brink of losing it. He tried to conjure every last bit of restraint he had, channeling the peaceful conversation he had just had with Narcissa. 

“Look, Malfoy--Draco. I’m not here to argue. I’m also not here to make you feel any type of way about your choices, past or present. Despite what you clearly think, I don’t believe I’m better than you, or anyone else for that matter.”

Draco moved across the room, with a grace similar to that of his mother. Definitely takes after Narcissa, Harry thought as the blond man delicately dropped into the seat his mother had recently vacated. 

“Then what are you here for? _Harry._ ” Draco managed to make his name sound like a slur. Something filthy. Old habits, and all, Harry supposed. 

“To talk.” 

“About?”

“Everything.” Harry was no longer meeting the other man’s eye. He was focused solely on picking at invisible lint on his jeans. The jeans were new, chosen by Hermione. A dark blue wash that he (Hermione) paired with a long sleeved sage green t-shirt. The shirt was far too fitted for Harry’s comfort, but Hermione insisted that Harry had a body made to show off. He consented to wearing it to stop that topic of conversation before it picked up any more speed. 

“We’ll be here for the duration of my parole if you want to rehash our entire history.” 

Harry couldn’t help the soft chuckle that escaped him. “Too right.” Harry lifted his eyes to meet the other pair in the room, “but, I think that may be just what we need.” 

Letting out a melodramatic sigh worthy of only Draco Malfoy, “Fine, Pot—Harry. Let’s begin, shall we.” 

And so they did. They discussed it all. The rejected handshake, the constantly traded barbs, the “Potter stinks” badges, Sixth Year and the Incident, the war, and everything in between. The two sat in those leather chairs, in front of the crackling fire, for hours on end. It wasn’t peaceful, not by a long shot. At times it wasn’t even civil. Voices were raised, voices cracked with emotion, and more than once one of the men jumped out of his seat to leave. But something kept them both there in that room. If asked, Harry would say it was a sense of duty, to himself, he had to finish this, to be able to move on. If Draco was asked, he’d say it was a feeling of inevitability, get it done now so he too could move on. 

The men did eventually run out of steam. Running his hands through his unruly hair, Harry let out a deep breath, and stood. “I think it’s time I go. Thanks for talking to me, Draco. I think, I think we can move on from here, yeah?”

Draco stood and extended his hand to the brunet. “Yeah, I think we might be able to do just that, Harry.” The corners of his lips quirked ever so slightly when Harry grasped his hand in a firm handshake. A handshake many years overdue. 

As Harry began to make his way to the doors leading out of the sitting room, he stopped abruptly and turned. “Wait, I forgot something.” Harry drew his wand and pointed it at the other man. 

Draco froze. “What the fuck Pot—“ 

“Delebitur anima debitum,” Harry incanted. The now familiar golden glow overtook the two wizards and settled into their skin. 

“What the actual fuck, Potter?!” Draco screeched, panic sowed into every syllable. A crazed, feral look settling in his eyes. 

Harry was startled by the reaction, not in a thousand years could he have predicted this. “What? I just cancelled your…”

“I KNOW WHAT YOU DID POTTER!” Draco cut Harry off. “Why would you fucking do that?? Why?” 

Harry’s head was spinning and he had no idea what was going on. Draco was livid, and his anger had a frantic edge. “I didn’t want you to owe me anything. I thought it would help..."

“I never asked for your help, Potter.” Draco whipped around to face Harry, finger pointing accusingly. “Have you ever thought of that? Have you ever once thought what it must feel like to have you constantly swoop in and save me from myself? Every time I fuck up you’re there. Saving the day. Saving me. Do you have any idea what it feels like? Even the slightest clue as to how I feel right now?” 

“I was hoping that you’d at least be a little appreciative, but I guess that’s too much to ask for.” Harry bit out, his confusion at the turn of events causing his anger to boil again. 

“FUCK POTTER. You have NO idea. None. Zero. Am I thankful that you saved my arse once again? That I’m not sitting in Azkaban right now? Obviously. OBVIOUSLY. But I just wanted once, just once, to be able to pay it back. To put us on even footing. The life debt was that opportunity. But nooooo, you couldn't even let me have that. The Great Harry Potter has made it his mission to save everyone from every thing—and if you want me to grovel at your feet and praise you for it, its never going to happen. You can fuck right off back to your Weasels if that’s what you’re looking for.” 

At the mention of his surrogate family, Harry finally broke. He grabbed Malfoy’s shoulders and slammed him back against the wall. He was mere inches from Malfoy’s face, his breathing heavy, adrenaline pumping, “don’t you ever talk about the Weasleys to me again,” he growled. 

“Or what, Potter?” 

Harry slammed Malfoy against the wall once more. “Malfoy, I swear to Gods, you’re pushing me.”

“I think you'll find, Potter, that you are in fact, the one pushing me.” 

Harry grit his teeth, but for some reason he couldn’t let go of Malfoy. Their bodies were practically touching, Harry’s hands now on either side of Malfoy’s head, their noses a hair’s-width apart. 

“Why can’t you ever just make it easy, Malfoy? Just once.” 

“Fuck you, Potter. That’s why.” 

Harry slammed his fist against the wall next to Malfoy’s head, causing the blond’s breath to audibly catch in his throat. “I swear to Gods, Malfoy, I’m going to…”

“Just do it,” Malfoy cut in. 

So Harry did it. He crashed his mouth against Malfoy’s. Hard. He had no idea why that was his instinct in that moment, but he wasn’t about to question it. Not when those lips that were normally spitting vitriol were pressed so firmly against his. Not when he could feel the hard planes of Draco’s torso pressed against his body. And definitely not when those soft, pink lips responded. The kiss was intense. Breathless. And lasted longer than Harry had ever kissed another human being. Harry had just begun to grind his hips and burgeoning hardon against Draco’s thigh when he felt those slim hands pushing at his shoulders. 

And reality crashed into him. Hard. Brutally. Like a deer in headlights, Harry stumbled back, wide-eyed and terrified.

“Fuck, fuck. I’m so sorry, I didn’t mean… I don’t… oh fuck,” Harry stuttered as he turned and ran, high-tailing it out of there as fast as he could. 

In his terror, he hadn’t even registered the shouts of “Harry, wait!” trailing behind him.


	7. So, Do You?

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm still hoping that I can post to this at least once a week (particularly since the next few chapters are written, though not edited), but my work life is very demanding right now (I'm an attorney IRL) and I haven't had a ton of time to really devote to this. 
> 
> So, if this starts to slow down to less than every week know that I'm sorry. But if I keep getting Kudos and comments, I'll keep writing and posting!

June 17, 2003 

“So, I just panicked. I can’t explain it better than that. I absolutely panicked. I had my entire life planned—I was going to marry Ginny and we’d raise our kids with Ron and Hermione's and I was going to give my kids the perfect life I never got to have." Harry sighed, but continued, "and then after the war, I just started questioning everything. Like whether that plan was something I actually even wanted. Was Ginny someone I even wanted? I mean, I had just started to question my sexuality when your trial came up. And I can’t even remember why I kissed you, it was like I couldn’t control myself. I lost myself in it. Your body pressed against mine was like a drug, and then you pushed me away and it was like my brain snapped back into action and I freaked. I had just forced myself on another man. I fucking forced myself on you, Draco. I felt like a monster. The double shock of realizing I was more than likely gay, and that I wouldn’t have stopped if you hadn’t pushed me away was too much for me to handle. So I panicked and just ran.”

Harry took a deep breath, his head was resting in his hands, elbows propped on his knees. 

“Where’d you go?” Draco wanted to hear the rest of Harry's story before getting to his own side of things.

“As I’m sure you know from the Prophet, I apparated straight to Diagon and emptied one of my vaults at Gringotts. I exchanged it for Muggle money. I was acting purely on instinct and deep in my gut I knew I just needed to get out of the Wizarding world for a while. I always hated being the Savior," Harry practically sneered the title, "and being the center of attention was never my thing. And in that moment, all I could think about was how the world would react when they found out their Savior was gay and went around forcing himself on straight men. All the news, all the press, all the attention. I was so uncomfortable with it all that I needed time and space to sort through it on my own." Green eyes were flitting about the room, desperately trying to meet grey. "I stopped at Kingsley’s office to let him know my half formed plans, and he helped me find this place and set up some wards. Like I said, Hermione had that tracking charm on me, so her and Ron knew pretty quickly. I didn’t even tell Ron and Hermione why I left for a long time, but they know now.”

“On a first name basis with the Minister are we, Potter?”

“Actually, in private I call him Kings. But if you repeat that I’ll hex you into oblivion. As will he, I’m sure.”

“So you waited to tell Granger and the Weasel about..." Draco fumbled for words for a moment before lamely finishing, "...us. What about the Minister? Does he know?”

“I told Kingsley immediately. He’s my closest confidante. I can honestly say I wouldn’t be the man I am today without him.” 

Almost as if summoned, Harry’s floo roared to life, the man in question's face appearing in the green flames. 

“Harry, are you home? Can I come through?” 

“Come on through Kings. I’m not alone though, just to let you know.”

The Minister's face disappeared to be replaced with the man himself stepping elegantly out of the fireplace. 

“Well I see that James was indeed correct.” 

Harry raised an eyebrow at the vague statement. 

“James sent me an owl informing me you had a special guest.” Kingsley emphasized the word special in a teasing tone. “I must say I’m shocked to see you both still talking.” 

Emerald eyes narrowed. “Kings,” he warned. 

The older man gracefully draped himself at one end of the sofa, ignoring the word of warning. “So Mr. Malfoy," Kingsley was staring Draco down with a cheshire smile. "I hear you are a free man. And your first stop was to our dear Harry here. Curious indeed.” Draco found the smile incredibly unnerving, like he was missing out on some sort of joke. At his expense. 

“Erm, yes. I just felt that Harry and I had some unfinished business. Some loose ends to tie up.” The blond felt uncharacteristically tongue-tied and out of his depth. 

“Oh I assure you Mr. Malfoy, there are no loose ends to be found in this home.” The deep baritone voice of the dark skinned man was sickly smooth, and his dark chocolate eyes twinkled at the thinly veiled joke. 

“KINGSLEY.” Harry’s voice was tight and full of ice. Any other man would have paused at the implied threat in Harry’s tone, but Kingsley was no ordinary man. 

“Oh come now, Harry. You owe me this. After everything, I do believe I deserve the opportunity to tease the bloody hell out of you. Now, Mr. Malfoy. I don’t want to jump on Harry’s story but as I do believe you two have been alone for well over an hour at this point, I’m going to speed things along lest he drag it out for another four years. Has he come out to you yet? I mean I know he effectively did years ago, but has he verbally done so?” 

Harry groaned from his seat at the other end of the couch. He hung his head back over the edge and covered his face in his hands. “I could kill you, Kings. I really could.” 

“Uh, no. He hasn’t. The last he said, he was struggling with his sexuality and that’s part of why he disappeared.”

“Well, I can confidently say that he does not struggle with it anymore. In fact, there are few things Harry struggles with sexually.” Draco’s mouth dropped open at the way the man openly appraised Harry. 

“I, uh, I mean, have you two, erm, are you also...” Draco stammered, now completely incapable of forming coherent thoughts. 

“Me? Oh yes. Us?” Kingsley motioned between him and Harry. “Once upon a time. Harry and I saw each other romantically for about two years but that ended about a year ago when we realized we each wanted things the other couldn’t offer. You should ask Harry about the story one day, I have a feeling you’d enjoy it.” Kingsley’s smile and tone had a distinctly playful air. 

“Are you quite done, Kings?” Harry practically whined. 

“Well, a man can tell when he’s not wanted. Even if it does take him two years.” Kingsley winked at Draco with a devilish grin.

“Kingsley that’s not....” Harry started before the man cut him off. 

“I’m kidding Harry. I’m not mad. I’m not upset. In fact, I’m highly amused. And quite pleased with myself for being so right for so long.” The Minister stood from the couch, smoothing out invisible wrinkles from his elegant plum robes, and making his way towards the floo. He grabbed a pinch of the powder from the mantel and turned back towards the two men. Harry had his elbows on his knees, his head down, and hands clasped behind his neck. Kingsley could tell the man was tense, and he knew it couldn’t have just been the teasing. 

A knowing smile played at the corner of Kingsley’s lips. “I see that Healer Abraham has had remarkable success in getting you to refrain from impulse, Harry.” 

Harry snorted and looked up at his former lover, letting the man see the strain in his eyes. “Every nerve in my body is on edge right now, Kings. You have no idea.” 

Kingsley openly laughed. “Oh how fun for you. Well do enjoy your chat gentlemen.” The man's smile was positively wicked as he stepped into the flames and disappeared. 

“Harry?” Draco was genuinely confused by the exchange he had just witnessed. If anything, he was more confused than he had been when he walked into Trotter's Antiques over an hour ago. 

“I think you should go, Draco. I’ve been tense all afternoon, and Kingsley had to just push me right to the edge, and my impulse control is wavering fast ...” 

“What impulses are you refraining from, exactly?” Draco’s pulse quickened, Harry Potter's lack of impulse control was familiar ground. Harry was notorious for fight or flight. This Draco could handle. Well, so long as Harry didn't choose flight again (for four more years). 

Harry groaned and dramatically threw himself back against the sofa. His head hanging over the back, as he covered his face with his hands once again. “I can’t Draco. It’s not fair to you. I get that you’re not gay and that you don’t want me, and that you're just here to hash out my inexcusable behavior." He sighed heavily, "but even after all these years when I’m near you my whole body just hums with electricity and it gets harder and harder to pretend it doesn’t exist...ughhh. What??”

Harry had been so lost in his own thoughts that he hadn’t heard Draco move. And so it was that he was very shocked to find himself with a lap of full of blond, a finger pressed to his lips. 

“Shhhh. Harry, listen to me.” Draco removed his finger from Harry’s lips, taking the brunets head into his hands and lifting, ensuring Harry look at him. “You may have struggled with a sudden realization of being gay, but I have known that I was since the summer before fourth year. A combination of being repulsed by kissing Pansy at a garden party and a complete disinterest in the Veela at the World Cup pretty much cemented it for me. I didn’t push you away that night because I didn’t want you, Harry. I have always wanted you.” 

Draco pushed his hips into Harry’s, eliciting a groan from the man. “Can’t you feel how much I want you Harry? I pushed you away to suggest we move somewhere more private. There were aurors everywhere. And my mother, for Merlin's sake. But you ran before I could form a coherent thought. You nearly broke me that night Harry. Not for all the reasons you've concocted in your head, but because you gave me just the tiniest taste of the forbidden fruit I had lusted after for years.” 

Draco paused his speech, gently tracing his thumbs across the man's strong cheek bones. “I knew you wanted me that night. I could feel it the moment your body pressed against mine. I felt how hard you were for me and I practically melted. I spent the last four years of my life agonizing over it, Harry. Every time I wanked, it was over the memory of your cock pressed to my thigh, your lips on mine.”

Draco’s hands were now in Harry’s hair, his face hovering just above the man beneath him, his words ghosting over the other man's soft, plump lips. “I have waited for four years to find out if you still want me. So... Harry,” Draco’s lips moved impossibly closer to Harry’s, “do you still want me?”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry, bit of a tease ending. (Not sorry).


	8. A Couple of Fifth Years

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry for the long delay!! At such a cliffhanger too. I'm (kinda) the worst. I had six motions due in federal court over the last few weeks so I was swamped. I'm (hoping) for some smooth sailing in the next weeks so that I can at least get some future chapters ready for posting. 
> 
> Anyway, this one should be enjoyable! :)

Harry groaned. His self-restraint worn so thing that it was practically non-existent. He was so focused in not pushing his hips up against the slim blond straddling him that he could only manage a hissed “yessss” through his teeth. 

It was all the confirmation Draco needed. He closed the fractional distance between their lips, his hands twisting in the black mess of hair, his hips salaciously grinding against the body beneath him. Draco had no time for sweet or soft. He wanted the frantic dance of lips, and teeth, and tongues winding together. Draco just _wanted_. 

Harry wanted too. The last ounce of self control he had been exhibiting broke when Draco slammed his mouth agains his. Harry’s hands roamed all over the other man, finally grasping the blond pert little ass in his hands. Harry squeezed as he aggressively ground his hips up, desperate for some friction on his aching cock. Draco broke the kiss as Harry ground against him, practically whimpering in the other man's ear. 

Without breaking contact, Harry shifted them so that they were lying on the sofa, nestling between the blond's legs to continue his assault--one hand still firmly grasping the blond's bottom the other wound through silky white strands of hair. Draco wrapped one of his legs around Harry’s waist, pulling him down flush against his body. He actually did whimper when Harry’s cock finally rubbed against his. The other man answered with a groan and leaned down, whispering in this slight man's ear, "Fuck, Draco, you feel so good." He peppered open mouth kisses to the slender neck beneath him, "Do you feel how fucking hard you make me?" Harry ground his hips down, providing the delicious friction both men craved. 

Draco’s senses were overloaded. Harry smelled amazing; a mix of wood shavings and spice invading his nostrils. The man's dirty words whispered against his skin was intoxicating, mixing with the overwhelming feeling of the firm body and hard cock rutting against him, teeth and tiny kisses along his jaw and in the hollow point under his ear. Draco wasn’t going to last. 

“Harry, I...” before Draco could finish his warning, Harry tightened his grip on his bottom, the other hand forcefully grabbing a fistful of hair, as the man groaned in Draco’s ear, “fuuuuuck, Draco.” Harry kept the friction between their clothed cocks going through his climax, Draco joining him the instant Harry had pulled his hair. 

Harry rested his forehead against Draco’s, both men taking a moment to catch their breath. “I can’t believe I just came in my jeans like a bloody fifth year.” The embarrassment in Harry’s voice caused Draco’s entire body shake with the effort of stifling giggles. 

Harry pushed up on his hands creating enough space between the two so that he could properly glare at the giggling blond. “Hey, that was four years of pent up frustration. I couldn’t help it.” 

“You aren’t the only fifth year in this room, Potter. And don’t whine to me about four years, I’ve been dreaming of that since fourth year.”

“Really?” Harry somehow managed to look to shocked and smug at the same time. 

“Oh fuck you, Potter. Make yourself useful and grab my wand from the table. I don’t quite fancy having sticky shorts,” Draco said as he playfully pushed at Harry’s chest. 

Harry sat up and waved his hand over each one of them. Draco felt the distinct tingle of a cleaning charm, causing his eyebrows to raise to his hairline. 

“Harry did you just...”

“Wandless, nonverbal, yes. Makes living among the muggles much easier if you don’t actually need a wand.” Now there definitely was a smug look on Harry’s face. 

Draco scooted up to a sitting position, his legs stretched so his feet were in Harry’s lap. “I’m impressed Potter. But, now that we’ve taken the edge off, can you control your impulses long enough for us to have a decent conversation? I have loads of unanswered questions.”

Harry grabbed one of Draco’s feet in his hands, gently pushing his thumbs into the ball, drawing a gasp from the blond. Harry gave a brief chuckle as he brought his eyes from the feet in his lap all the way up to the body of the other man—openly appraising the blond's slender frame. Harry licked his lips, “For now.” 

“Potter, stop massaging my feet or we’ll get nothing done.” Draco pulled his feet away from the man's lap and shifted so he was sitting cross-legged instead. 

Harry laughed as he too shifted on the sofa, slouching back against the arm, lifting his legs to rest his feet on the table in front of the sofa. He was clearly far more at ease now that the impulse to jump Draco was somewhat satisfied. “Alright Blondie, fire away. What do you want to know?”

Draco made a face at the other man. “Funny, Potter. Where to start, where to start." He playfully tapped his chin. "I guess let’s try some ‘safe’ territory. Explain the wandless nonverbal magic.” 

“Easy. After the war, my power surged. Hermione has several theories as to why, but there’s no definite reason. I was always told I was a powerful wizard, but it wasn’t until after the war that I started feeling it myself. Magic was just coming to me in a way it never had before. After I settled down here, Kinglsey set up lessons with James. I’m basically a fully trained Auror. But I quickly surpassed what James could teach me, so I started teaching myself from books.” At this, Harry waved his hand at the overflowing bookshelves that line one side of the room. 

“Several follow up questions. First, Who’s James?”

“Auror Keith James. Kingsley assigned him to be my watch guard. He’s been stationed across the street ever since.”

“Gods he must have been bored.” 

Harry laughed loudly. “Yeah I’ve been a pretty boring guy lately. But honestly, the Auror corps rarely sees action nowadays. That’s why Ron resigned. He was always complaining how bloody bored he was. As for James, he got to train with me, settle down with his family in a flat paid for by the Ministry, and somehow managed to perfect his memory charms.” Harry spoke the last part with a mischievous smirk that caused Draco to laugh himself. 

“Oh so that’s how the secret of Gary Trotter lasted for so long.” 

“Like I said easier, it’s who you know. And I happen to know the Auror across the street.” 

“So that’s where the books came from. I was sure when I came in that they were Granger's influence and not a single one had been read.” 

Harry laughed again, a part of him surprised at how easy it was to just be around Draco. “Thanks for the vote of confidence, Blondie,” Harry spoke the nickname playfully, drawing a frown in response, “but I’ll have you know that I have read every single book on those shelves. I’ll admit a good amount _did_ come from Hermione, but I bought some myself. And there’s some from Kinglsey, James, John, Patrick, at least one or two from each of the Weasleys...”

“Potter, you’re naming people as if I should know who they are,” there was a slight irritation in Draco’s voice. 

“Ah sorry. Let me see, uh, John was the elderly wizard I bought the shop and flat from. Didn’t know he was a wizard at the time, Kings did of course, but Kings is not a man to tell another man's secrets. John eventually told me himself. He knew who I was when I bought the place, but wanted to give me the privacy I obviously needed. Anyway, John is how I know Patrick—his grandson. Patrick’s a squib a few years older than us. That’s why John and his wife were living among the muggles, when they found out Patrick was a squib, Voldemort was at the height of his power and they were worried about what would happen to him. Patrick’s parents stayed in the wizarding world to fight, they died a month before my parents.” 

“I’m sorry Harry.” Draco wasn’t exactly sure what he was sorry for in that moment, but he assumed it was something close to everything. 

Harry shrugged his shoulders dismissively, “what else did you want to know?” He was clearly avoiding the topic he had inadvertently brought up himself. Draco decided to let him. 

“Tell me about Kingsley.” 

Harry let out a quick breath. “Oof. That’s not an easy answer. I could probably talk about him for hours and still not tell you anything you actually want to know. Is there anything specific you want to know right now?” 

“That’s fair. I do want to know about it all at some point, but for now I want to know how it came to be and how it came to end, and why exactly he thinks I’d enjoy it.” 

Harry smiled. “I’m going to hex him into the afterlife next time I see him. I swear.” He paused, gathering his thoughts. “The beginning is the hardest part to explain really. I told you that I went to his office before I disappeared. I told him everything that had happened and why I felt I needed the time away from the constant attention. I was having an absolute meltdown in his office and he was just holding me telling me it was going to be okay and that I didn’t do anything wrong. I remember saying to him ‘but I’m all wrong, I'm a bloody poof.” And he took me by the shoulders and looked me hard in the eyes and made me promise never to talk about myself that way again. I mean I had been raised to think that the only thing worse than being a wizard was being gay. And I just sat in his office crying my eyes out and he kept saying he understood and I just lost it. I yelled at him, screamed that he couldn’t possibly understand. And he just looked at me and as if it was absolutely nothing said ‘Harry. I’m gay.’ Needless to say I was shocked but we sat there and talked for hours. I stayed in the spare room in his flat that night. He helped me find this place the next day. He kept coming over for tea almost every day. It took just over a year for anything to happen, but on my 20th birthday we had this beautiful dinner and he just put his cutlery down and looked across the table and said ‘Harry I’m in love with you.’ And that was that.” 

“So why’d it end?” 

“There was never any shortage of love between us. I still love Kings. I always will. But I don’t know that I was ever _in_ love with him, yaknow? There was too much we couldn’t give each other. For starters, Kingsley will never be out while he’s Minister. We could never go public. That’s fine while I’m still hiding away but I’m not going to hide forever. And I want to be out with the man I love. I want to hold hands in Diagon Alley. Other gay wizards don’t have to hide so why should I? Another issue is that Kingsley thinks I’m too impulsive. He’s the one that suggested I see a mind healer. He was right, god knows I’ve lived through enough to need one, but his main reason wasn’t to sort through my traumas--it was impulse control. He thought I was too argumentative and that I never stopped to think anything through. It drove me nuts that he was always so calm. I needed fire and he didn’t have it in him.” 

Harry paused again and ran his hands through his thick black hair. He let out a long breath. “Everything that makes Kingsley a great Minister--cool, calm, collected, understanding, thinks before he acts--made him wrong for me. He’s the consummate Ravenclaw and I the consummate Gryffindor. We just couldn’t find the middle ground.” 

A slight blush crossed Harry’s cheeks as he continued, “But the biggest issue was the sex. Don’t get me wrong, it wasn’t bad. He’s a phenomenal lover. But he prefers to top. And so do I. We took turns, and it was good, but never great. If the person you’re topping isn’t enjoying it as much as you are, it kind of ruins the experience. Towards the end of our relationship, I was finding it so hard to finish even when I was topping. About two weeks before we broke up, we were having sex and he was on his knees while I took him from behind. It was like he was performing a job duty. No moans, no excitement, nothing. He wasn’t even hard. I found myself wondering what it would be like to fuck someone who wanted it, so there I am fucking my boyfriend imagining myself fucking someone else. The image started innocent enough—just a vocal bottom begging me to fuck them. Then I had a fistful of blonde hair in one hand, and the other grasping a pale hip. It took me too long to figure out I was imagining fucking you. When I did realize it, I came harder than I had in months. It even took Kingsley by surprise. I made up some excuse about a different angle. For the next two weeks, every time we were intimate I imagined it was you I was with. Even when I was alone, it was you I was picturing.” 

Harry looked up from his lap where he had been intently watching his hands. Draco’s eyes were slightly dilated, his cheeks red. He took a steadying breath before he asked Harry, “so what happened?” 

Harry’s smile didn’t quite reach his eyes. “It was my birthday last year. Also our two year anniversary. Kingsley decided to surprise me. I was in the shower when he got here. Apparently I was in the middle of a pretty hot wank. He stood there watching me, moaning to myself, talking dirty to my fantasy, I was apparently more worked up than he had ever seen. He saw my muscles tense, knew I was going to cum, and I guess he expected me to say his name, like I usually did when we fucked. Except I didn’t. I said yours. In front of my boyfriend. Of two years." Harry sighed. "I don’t regret things ending with Kings, I really don't, but I’ll always feel guilty for how it ended. Walking in on your boyfriend wanking over another bloke is pure shit.” 

Draco crawled across the sofa and curled up against Harry, his head resting on the mans shoulder, his hand tracing patterns down across the T-shirt clad chest. “He was right you know, I did enjoy the ending.”

Harry snorted. “He’s always right. It’s an annoying habit of his.” He wrapped an arm around Draco, pulling the slim figure closer, surprised at the deep feeling of comfort that washed over him while cuddling his childhood nemesis. What a strange turn of events that brought them here. 

Before Harry could think too much on that, Draco broke into his reverie. “Harry....There’s something I should tell you..”


	9. Years of Waiting

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Another update! It's going to be at least another week before I can post again, and I didn't want to leave hanging as long as last time!

“Hmm?” Harry had fallen into such a deep state of comfort that it took him a minute to realize that Draco hadn’t responded. He took his free hand and tilted Draco’s chin up so that he was looking into grey eyes. “Hey, you don’t have to tell me anything you’re not comfortable telling me. But at the same time, you don’t have anything to worry about. I know who you are, Draco. You don’t have anything to worry about.” He gave Draco a soft encouraging smile. 

Draco’s responding smile could only be described as weak. “Erm well, uh I’m, well...” he finished his statement as he buried his face into Harry’s chest, the result being that Harry heard exactly none of it. 

“Draco, you’re gonna have to speak to me and not my chest if you want me to actually hear you,” by his tone Harry was clearly amused. 

The blond man turned his face ever so slightly, and barely whispered, “I’m a virgin.” 

“What?! Seriously??” Harry hadn’t meant for his shock to be so forceful. Draco groaned and hid his face in Harry’s chest once more. Realizing that he had likely made Draco's embarrassment that much worse, Harry took a deep breath and started over. 

“Hey, Draco, look at me.” He waited until he saw those silver eyes peak up at him, even though the majority of the face was still hidden. “There’s nothing embarrassing about being a virgin. I’m just shocked because well, look at you. There’s got to be an endless supply of men, wizards and Muggles alike, absolutely gagging for it.” 

Draco lifted himself of the broad chest, and interrupted. “Yes, Potter. I’m aware of the effect I have on other men. Excuse me for not bending over for every slag that made a pass.” His embarrassment made him revert to his snarky attitude. He crossed his arms and glared at the dark haired man. The effect was quite lost however, due in large part to the fact he was still snuggled up against the object of his ire. 

Harry quirked an eyebrow, a sly grin gracing his face. “So you’d be the one bending over, huh?” 

Draco blushed heavily. He hadn’t actually realized what he said. “Well, I, uh. Oh, bloody hell. In for a knut, in for a galleon, yeah? Yes, absolutely.” 

Amazingly, Harry’s eyes somehow widened and narrowed at the same time. The effect was intent interest directed at Draco. “How can you be so sure?” Harry didn’t notice that he licked his lips in a gesture of pure desire. 

But Draco didn’t miss it. He was all in. He moved so that he was once again sitting in Harry’s lap. Harry’s hands immediately moved to rest on the smaller man's hip, unconsciously chewing his bottom lip. 

Draco rested his hands against the firm chest, “Oh, Harry. I’m a virgin but I’m not _virginal._ I think I always knew I’d be a bottom. It might be surprising to hear, but I’m submissive by nature. I also have what I believe the Muggles call serious daddy issues.” He paused to giggle at his own joke. “I like powerful wizards putting me in my place, I think it’s why I was always drawn to you. Anyway, when I started seriously wanking over other men it was always in a subservient position. Then in fifth year, Pans got me a book on gay sex for my birthday. That’s how I learned about the prostate. So the next time I wanked, I worked a finger into my arse. I knew immediately that I liked the feeling, but once I hit that spot, it was like I saw stars. Nothing has ever felt so good. I came almost immediately. From then on, every time I wanked, I fingered my arse too, it’s almost to the point I can’t cum without it. I mean obviously not, but you know what I mean.” He waved his hand between the two of them, referencing their recent escapades. 

Harry’s short quick breathing would have given his arousal away if Draco couldn’t already feel the hard cock against his thigh. “If you knew what you liked, why haven’t you...”

“Had sex with another man?” Draco cut off the question. “At first it was really because of the war. There wasn’t much time for anything else except staying alive and as far away from Voldemort and my father as possible. Then I was in Azkaban for a year. And then. Then you showed up and gave me just enough to ensure celibacy. I felt you hard against my body, rubbing against me, and all I could think of from that point on is that I wanted that cock, and only that cock. I didn’t want just anyone to fuck me, Harry. I wanted _you_ to fuck me. So I ordered myself a few toys from the Wheezes back room. I wanted to make sure I was ready when I propositioned you. Do you know how many times I fucked myself with a rubber dick, wishing it was you? I’ve spilled so much cum with that toy deep in my arse, screaming your name.” Draco had leaned flat against the other man as he spoke, whispering the end of his speech into the man's ear, causing Harry to groan. 

“Dracoooo” Harry’s voice was pure gravel. 

The blond licked the raven haired mans ear lobe, before whispering, “Fuck me Harry.” 

Harry pushed the blond away a few inches to look him in the eye. “Are you sure Draco? We don’t have to. I want you but I want you to be comfortable more. I’ll wait for as long as you need.”

Draco reached between them squeezing the other man's bulge. “I've waited long enough. I want the real thing now, Harry.”

Harry pulled the blond down, meeting in a slow but passionate kiss. Where their first kiss was frantic, fueled by the fear of losing what was happening, this kiss was sure. Their lips and tongues dancing in a way that implied years of intimacy. The kiss lasted for quite some time, each man relishing the simple but deep pleasure of a good snog. It was when Draco broke the kiss to catch his breath, forehead resting against the brunet's, that Harry asked “you ready?” 

“Please,” was all Draco could manage before Harry’s lips were on his again. In a move that was far more graceful than it should have been, Harry lifted the pair from the sofa, moving Draco’s legs to wrap around him. 

Draco whimpered into Harry’s mouth at the effortless display of strength as Harry moved them through the flat to the bedroom. He lay Draco on his back on the bed, and with one final kiss, moved to stand over the blond. 

Draco met the green eyes that were staring down at him lasciviously. Harry raised his hand and with a quick flick of his wrist, Draco was naked—his clothing now folded neatly in a stack on top of table in the corner of the room. He whined at the casual display of magical power, “Harry...” 

Harry practically growled once Draco’s clothing was removed. His pale skin was almost luminescent against the deep navy comforter. His body was long and lean, but still decidedly soft. It could not be more opposite than the dark muscled body of his former lover, and Harry couldn’t get enough. 

“Fuck Draco, you’re absolutely gorgeous.” Harry bit his bottom lip, his eyes moving their focus to the hard cock standing tall against a hairless body. It wasn’t overly thick or overly long, of average size on both fronts really, but had a delicious upwards curve to it—a curve that Harry knew would be devastatingly enjoyable if the man ever decided to top. Harry’s hand had started to rub his own straining cock through his jeans as he appraised the body on his bed. He was only broken from his appraisal when long fingers wrapped around the cock holding his attention. 

“Hands off, Malfoy. I have plans that do not involve you tossing off.” 

The blond quirked an eyebrow, “is that so, Potter? And if I don’t? Are you going to punish me?” He challenged, giving his cock one long stroke before stilling his hand, but not removing it from his length. 

Harry smiled darkly. “That is something we will definitely explore later. But for now, I want you to hear you cumming all over my bedspread with my cock buried deep in your tight little arse. So hands off.” 

The elegant hand immediately dropped away. 

Harry chuckled, giving his own package one final squeeze, before waving his hand over his own body, rendering him nude. The resulting groan of appreciation from the bed made Harry smile. “Like what you see?”

Like didn’t even begin to cover it, Draco thought. The man standing naked before him was beyond his wildest fantasies. Not only had the man grown several inches taller since their last encounter, his body was broader, though still bearing the lithe impression of a seeker. The most surprising part was the amount of muscle the man had been hiding beneath his clothing. Draco could tell from the form fitting muggle clothing that Harry had certainly gained muscle in the last four years, but he hadn’t appreciated the extent. The raven haired man was positively ripped. Not in the over the top body builder way, but there was not a spot of softness to be found. Honestly, Draco hadn’t known that so many muscles existed in a man's anatomy. 

But the most impressive part, was the what Draco couldn’t tear his eyes away from. While entirely average in length, the cock standing proudly against a neatly trimmed tuft of black curls was thicker than Draco had imagined a cock could be. A look of mild concern soon mixed with the lustful expression on his face. 

Harry recognized it immediately. “I promise I won’t hurt you. I’ll make sure you’re fully prepared first, and even then I’ll go slowly until you adjust. Okay?” The blond head silently nodded. “Good. Now, on your hands and knees for me, love.” 

Harry approached the bed once the man was in position. He ran soft touches all over the pale skin, his naturally olive toned skin providing a lovely contrast. Harry climbed onto the bed behind Draco, settling on his knees, as he ran his hands reverently over the body in front of him. He squeezed the pale cheeks before spreading them open wide, exposing the perfectly pink rosebud. 

Draco rested his head against his forearms, he had never been so exposed to another person before. The heady feeling of exposure mixed with a jolt of surprise that caused him to jump, when he felt the hot wet heat of Harry’s tongue against his hole. He groaned as the man continued licking up and down his crack, circling the puckered skin around the opening. “Oh fuck” he ground out as the man's tongue breeched his body. His cock was positively throbbing as Harry tongue fucked his hole. 

Harry was taking his time preparing Draco. He knew how maddening it could be, but also knew that his girth required the effort. After several minutes of orally relaxing the man, Harry wandlessly lubed one of his fingers, pressing it gently into the other man. Draco’s breath hitched but quickly steadied as Harry’s finger worked its way inside of him. It wasn’t very long before a second finger was added. The fingers slowly fucking him, scissoring him open. Harry’s mouth was kissing sloppy wet kisses all over his back side, peppered with small bites that sent shivers up Draco’s spine. 

“More,” he begged, beside himself when the two fingers inside him gently brushed his prostate. A third finger was introduced, slowly, pausing long enough for the blond to adjust before continuing to fuck him. Draco allowed the other man to take his time preparing him, but was starting to feel the static energy of frustration. “Harry, I’m ready. Please” he whined. 

“Just a little bit more love, I don’t want to hurt you.” 

“Harry,” he begged, “just use the charm to finish. I can’t take it.” 

The responding laugh was hot against his backside. “The charm is great for quick fucks in the loo, but for your first time, I’m going to make sure you properly enjoy the experience.” At that, an impossible fourth finger was pressed against his entrance. Draco groaned at the pressure of the pointed hand stretching him beyond the point he had ever been stretched before. The hand stilled waiting for him to adjust. When Draco pushed his hip backs, the hand started to move again, fucking him slowly, the fingers now moving inside him stretching him impossibly wider. After what felt like an eternity, but was likely no more than a few minutes, the hand was slowly drawn out. 

Harry lifted himself up so that his cock was aligned with other man's entrance. He silently cast a lubrication charm covering his length, before gently pressing the head into the whimpering blond. Despite the preparation, he was still met with some resistance. The head was always the worst part. Harry pushed a little harder, the head of his cock finally pushing past the tight ring of muscle into the other man. 

Draco gasped at the sudden burst of discomfort as Harry finally pushed himself inside. Draco couldn’t voice his appreciation at Harry’s restraint, the man kept completely still giving Draco all the time he needed to acclimate to the impossibly thick mushroom head now inside of him. Draco took deep steadying breaths as the burning subsided and the feeling of fullness turned from painful to enjoyable. “Please” was again all Draco could manage when he was ready for Harry to move. 

Harry slowly pushed his cock in to the blond. He moved agonizingly slow, pausing frequently to let the man adjust to his thickness, so it took a couple minutes before he was fully seated. “Are you okay, love?” He asked the whining blonde beneath him. 

“Oh fuck Harry. I swear your cock is going to kill me, it feels so good. Ugh fuck me harry. Please.” Draco was already a panting, whiney, begging mess. 

“Unfff you’re so fucking sexy Draco.” Harry growled as he started slowly fucking the vocal blond beneath him. “You’re so fucking tight and I love how you beg me for it. Oh fuuuuck,  
You’re so good baby. God I could fuck you forever,” the man rambled. Harry couldn’t control himself during sex, he was always loud and talkative. 

Harry’s grunts, groans, and filthy words added to the pleasure that was overwhelming Draco. His cock was leaking sticky streaks against the comforter. Draco wasn’t sure if Harry had just been lucky enough to find the angle straight away, or if Harry’s cock was so thick he didn’t need to angle, but every stroke brushed Draco’s prostate causing him to moan wantonly. “Uhhh Harry. Oh gods, you feel so good. Yes, please, oh god, fuck me, harder,” the string of words tumbled from Draco’s mouth as he was driven closer and closer to orgasm. 

Harry gripped the pale white hips tightly, as he quickened his pace, practically slamming into the mouthy blond. Draco’s wanton display of pleasure was pushing Harry to the edge. One golden hand reached around to grab the pale length in a tight grip. 

Draco’s hands clenched the covers tightly, the quick paced forceful hits to his prostate paired with the firm tugs to his cock were too much to handle. “Fuck Harry I’m going to...” he didn’t finish his warning before he was shooting jets of his cum over the navy blue bed covers. 

The feeling of Draco’s muscles tightening around his cock as the blond orgasmed, brought Harry’s release as well. He yelled the man's name as he pumped several shots of cum deep into said man's spasming hole. 

The two men were motionless for a moment, catching their breaths. Harry gently pulled out of Draco and collapsed on to the bed next to him, pulling the blond into a tight embrace. The two lay in silence, Harry’s nose buried in Draco’s hair, enjoying the scent that was distinctly Draco—cottony, musky, and a hint of citrus. 

Draco was nuzzling his face against Harry’s bare chest. He was deeply sated and was on the brink of drifting off. “Harry, that was bloody amazing. I know I don’t have anyone to compare it to, but my gods.” 

“I’m glad it was as good for you as it was for me. It was beyond everything I’ve been imagining the last few years. Even having something to compare it to, my gods.” Draco could feel the slight chuckle in the mans chest, as the arms around him squeezed a little tighter.


	10. Potter Snuggles and Poorly Kept Secrets

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I am so sorry for the long wait. Unfortunately, I think it's going to be quite some time between chapters moving forward. I only have two or three more chapters prewritten, but they need extensive editing. Work has been crazy for me so finding the time to sit and write more chapters or edit the existing ones has been tough. I haven't abandoned this though, I promise!

Draco was reveling in the warmth of Potter's body. He had latched on to the other man like an octopus--his right arm and leg thrown over the golden muscled body to his left. His head was resting on the man's solid shoulder and Draco's long pale fingers were stroking the curly black tufts of hair that littered Harry's chest. The slow, quiet breathing and gentle thump of a heartbeat beneath his fingers was grounding. It was a level of intimacy that Draco was unaccustomed to, but was certain he could become addicted to. It had lulled Draco to a place in which he felt he could sate his curiosity, whisper his burning questions into this quiet intimacy and have them answered--free of judgment. 

“You don’t have to answer, but have you been with anyone other than Kingsley?”

A less quiet intake of breath. “Yes.”

“How many?”

The dark haired man paused. Then sighed. “It depends what you mean by “been with.” I’ve had proper intercourse with two other men besides you and Kingsley. Oral sex, six. Frotting or wanking or heavy petting involving an orgasm, I’m not sure I could put a number on that. The muggle gay clubs can get a little intense.” 

The blond extricated himself from Harry’s arms to sit up beside the man. His face held an amused look of shock. “Harry. You’re a slag.” The humor was evident in his statement. 

Harry’s responding laugh was enough to shake the bed. “I am not! You have no idea Draco, you’ve just been so sheltered. Trust me. My sex life is tame in comparison to some of the men I know."

Grey eyes fixed upon emerald and narrowed. “So, who else?” 

“My, my, Draco. Are you jealous?" 

Porcelain fingers pulled at wiry chest hairs causing Harry to gasp. "Maybe I am. Do I have reason to be?" 

Harry chuckled, he'd never tell the wizard (or maybe he would if it worked to his advantage), but he loved that the blond was jealous. It made Harry feel wanted and desired in a way he had not in a long time. "No, nothing for you to worry about Blondie." Harry bit his lip and reached out to gently tug on a lock of platinum. Dropping his hands to cover the pale one still working through his chest hair, he sighed. "Well in true slag fashion, one was a random one night stand with a muggle named Ben. He had bleached blonde hair.” Harry smirked. “He was less than a week after I ended it with Kingsley. Then there was Patrick. John's grandson." Harry huffed out a laugh. "Now there’s a true slag. There was never anything remotely romantic between us, but we had an, erm, arrangement for the last few months. I’ll actually have to end that now.”

Draco’s breath stuttered a bit at the implication of Harry’s words, hoping blossoming in his chest. “Why?”

Harry rolled on to his side, perching up on an elbow. “Because Blondie,” he reached his other hand to run through Draco’s hair, “now that I have you, I don’t intend on letting you go.” Draco practically purred, leaning into Harry’s hand, letting the possessive statement wash over him. 

“Good. Because you’ll find I’m harder to get rid of than dragon pox. So what do you mean by an arrangement?”

“Ermmm, well. Patrick is a submissive, and I help him out." Harry shrugged, or shrugged as much as he could in his current position. "It all started when I ran into him at a muggle gay club. It was leather night.” He looked Draco in the eyes, lust clearly evident. “I love leather. You’d look amazing in a pair of leather trousers you know.” Draco blushed. Partly because of Harry’s remark and obvious desire, partly because he already owned a pair that did, in fact, look amazing. 

“Anyway, I had never seen Patrick outside of tea time with John. And once we started dancing, it got hot and heavy pretty quickly. He drug me to the loo and begged me to fuck him right there in the stall. I’d normally have never done it because of how thick I am, but since he’s a squib I was able to use the charm. So I fucked him there in the loo at the club."

"Filthy," Draco interrupted. 

"Well, yeah, but also very hot. We could try it sometime." 

"No thank you," was Draco's prim response. Internally, however, he thought he'd very much like to try it. 

"Have it your way. Anyway, after that he started coming round and while Kingsley really opened up doors for me accepting my sexuality, Patrick opened up doors for me to really explore my sexuality and determine what I like sexually, aside from knowing I’d rather top than bottom.” 

“So you’re saying you like to be the dominant one in a relationship, then?” 

A blush crossed Harry’s cheeks, as he thought for a moment. “Outside the bedroom, no. I like an even match, someone who keeps me on my toes, challenges me, and calls me on my shit. Inside the bedroom though, I do. It’s not a deal breaker though, so if you’re not into it don’t worry about it.”

Draco smiled. He had a strong idea of what exactly he was into, but wanted to hear more from Harry. “I don’t know enough about it to know if I’m into it or not. Tell me more, maybe like what your relationship with Patrick is like and why you like it so much.” 

Harry took a deep breath. “Well, I've thought a lot about it. I think part of it is because my whole life has been dictated by others. I’m sure you probably think that throughout Hogwarts I got to do whatever it was I bloody well pleased, and you wouldn’t be the only one. But the truth of it? My life was like a puppet show orchestrated by others. Dumbledore, Voldemort, Snape, pick someone. Pretty much anyone other than me. Even before Hogwarts, my aunt and uncle used me like a house elf. It wasn’t until after the war that I really started to make choices for myself. But even then, between dating Kingsley and Hermione as a best mate, so many of my choices weren't mine. So when Patrick introduced me to the world of doms and subs, it was almost intoxicating.” Harry had a faraway look in his eyes as he explained his preferences. Draco could understand Harry’s reasoning, even if his was the exact opposite. 

“Yaknow,” Harry continued, “it’s having the power to call the shots, and have the other person want to follow. Not because they have to, but because they trust you. I think another part of it that no one ever trusts me to make the right choice. But with a sub, they trust you to take care of them. To make the right choices, to treat them well. And Patrick, well God’s, I think he just enjoys it. We see each other two or three times a week, sometimes he comes over here, sometimes we go out to clubs. When we’re together, I'm in charge." 

"What does that look like? Like what do you do together?" 

"Well, he does everything I say, really. I mean, he has a safe word in case what I say is too much but he’s never used it. If he disobeys me, he gets punished. Spankings, orgasm denial, that sort of thing. He loves dirty talk so that’s a big part of it, like with a bit of humiliating edge.” 

“What does that even mean?” Draco interrupted, his interest piqued. 

“Oh well erm, saying outside the heat of the moment is a bit awkward.” Harry was stammering, clearly feeling uncomfortable. 

“Now I have to know. Out with it Potter.” 

“Fine. Ok well. Yeah. So, uh, you know, things like “you like my cock in your arse, don’t you? Daddy’s little cock whore aren’t we? If you beg me nice and pretty, Daddy will let you cum.” So yeah, stuff like that.” The blush on Harry’s cheeks was fire red as he covered his face with his arms. 

“Fuck, Potter. He calls you daddy?”

“He originally suggested master but that reminded me too much of Voldemort, so then we settled on Daddy. I never had a dad, so it doesn’t really have any connotations for me.” 

“Hmm, I’ll have to think how I feel about that. Lucious was always ‘father’ to me. I hardly think of him when I hear the term ‘daddy.’” 

Harry peaked at the blonde from between his arms. “You don’t have to call me anything. It’s only for a sub, to establish the power difference really.” 

“I understand that, Potter. Have you ever frequented the back room at Weasleys Wizarding Wheezes?” 

Harry moved his arms away from his face, eyebrow raised at the sudden change of conversation. “No, I haven’t been back to the wizarding world since I left. Ron always tells me business is booming and they have loads of new products and product lines, but we’ve never discussed a back room.” 

“I’m not surprised. I don’t think the Weasel has much to do with it. From what I understand from George, most of it comes from the deviant mind of their older brother, the dragon tamer. Can’t recall his name.” 

“Charlie.” Harry interjected, another blush gracing his face.

A pale eyebrow raised in suspicion. “Potter. Why are you blushing?” Draco demanded. 

“Erm. Well. Deviant is one way to describe it.” 

“Harry Potter. Did you sleep with one of the Weasleys?? Wait. Two?? Did you ever sleep with Ginny?? Oh my god, did you manage to bed two of the seven??” Draco’s voice was brimming with mirth, clearly enjoying Harry’s embarrassment. 

“No I didn’t sleep with him. I also never did more than kiss Gin. Plus, I already named the men I’ve slept with, I’ll remind you." Harry swatted his hand lightly against the blond's torso. He paused, a wicked grin creeping on to his face. "Now we did do everything else but fuck, of course.” 

“Do the carpets match the drapes?” Draco practically sniggered. 

“And his chest hair. He’s pure masculinity that one. All muscle, and body hair, and rough skin. Super long cock, but thin. I really refined my deep throating skills on him. There’s no taking all of him, but an average cock I’ll take to the hilt.” 

Draco’s mouth was suddenly dry. “Oh” was all he could manage as his head was filled with images of Harry’s nose pressed to his skin, his cock buried deep in his throat. If he hadn’t already cum twice in the last few hours, he’d have been hard as a rock. 

“So tell me more about what that deviant Charlie has done for Wheezes.” 

Draco cleared his throat before he continued. “The back room is a veritable sex shop. All kinds of sexual toys and accessories you could think of. It’s where I got my dildos. There’s also all sorts of muggle pornography. Charlie helped George design a magical player that allows a wizard to watch the movies. DBPs I think they’re called.”

“DVDs.” Harry corrected. 

“Right that’s it. Anyway. I bought one and purchased some standard gay movies. I came back a few months later for some new ones and that’s when your deviant suggested some of the more fetish style movies. He suggested some light BDSM to start. I had to ask what that was, but once he explained it, I was definitely interested.” 

Harry looked astonished. “Oh that sly fuck. When was this?” 

“Erm, the bit with Charlie? About six months ago. Why?” 

“Because he knew about the incident between us. He knew about my arrangement with Patrick. He intentionally steered you, Draco.” Harry openly laughed.

“I’m not sure if I should thank him or kill him.” 

“Join the club. That’s the Weasley way though. Interference, but you know, from the heart.” 

Draco snorted. He was well versed in interfering family members. The “from the heart” bit was foreign, however. “So yeah, Charlie steered me in that direction. And it definitely piqued my interest. I can’t say I’ll ever want to be as committed to it as your Patrick, but I definitely want to explore.”

“I’m not as committed to it as Patrick, and he’s not “my Patrick.” But that is very good to hear, Malfoy. Very good indeed.” The predatory look had retuned to Harry’s eyes. “I cant wait to revisit the idea of punishment.” 

A blush crossed the blonde’s pale features. “I was hoping it would draw that reaction when I said that. How will you punish me?” 

Green eyes were alight a devilish stare. “It depends on the transgression. But I don’t like anything particularly heavy. I keep it to spankings mostly. Some paddles. Orgasm denial.” 

Draco gulped and a soft “oh” was all that he was able to get out. 

Harry reached a hand out to gently stroke the sharp cheekbones, as he sat up. “But that’s for another time. Right now, I’m starving. I’ve somehow managed to work up quite the appetite. You hungry?” 

Draco found that he very much was.


End file.
